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OUR 

FEATHERED 
MONITORS 



BY 



I H. A. B. WILLIAMS 



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"Our Feathered Monitors'' 

J. H. Ji. S. WILLIAMS 






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COPPYRIGHT T912 
E Y 

J. H. A. B. WILLIAMS 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



^£CI.A3ii)545 



PREFACE 

At a time when great interest is manifest in 
the cultural and economic value of birds, I submit 
the following poems hoping that they may aid in 
stimulating a further interest in bird life. 

That they may bring to the minds of the read- 
ers the beautiful thoughts that were suggested to 
me by observing the peculiarities of the birds 
alluded to in this brief booklet is my desire. 

The Author. 



The Slumbering Covey. 

(quail) 

How peaceful is your slumbering. 
As you repose, with weary wing, 
Upon the leaves to which you've fled, 
And which now form your lowly bed! 
Your birth does mark a circle true 
As that which bounds the sky of blue. 
With each small head protruding out, 
You are secure from sudden rout. 
With each its allotted arc to guard, 
The symmetry is never marred. 
Nature has taught you thus to rest. 
And guard 'gainst dangers that molest. 



Each to the others does confide 
Their portion of the horizen wide. 
Feeling that its comrades brave 
Will strive the entire flock to save, 
And will in danger sound the cry 
That sends you to the friendly sky 



As leaves in Autumn's fitful gust 

Are whirled, and tossed, and rudely thrust, 

Beyond the danger that you fear, 

To friendly thicket, which is near, 

And which your instinct says shall be 

Your refuge safe when forced to flee. 

As I behold you at my feet, 
I think it altogether meet 
That I should pen the noble thought. 
Which your strange attitude has taught: 
If men would to each other show 
Such confidence while here below, 
I feel there would be more to greet 
When they, the saved, in heaven meet. 



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The Flight of Canadian Geese. 

V-shaped figure in the sky, 

With leader so alert and brave! 

Whither dost thou swiftly fly, 

Amidst the winds that wildly rave? 

With the North-wind at thy back. 

Thy form doth cleave the realms of air 

As the prow of vessel, black, 

The stormy ocean's thoroughfare. 

Season says that thou art bound 

For far-off Southern sunny lands 

Where ne'er ice and snow are found. 

Congealing hard the lakes and sands. 

As I stand and watch thy flight 

Against the clouds with shades of pink, 
See thee wing it from my sight, 

I surely am constrained to think; 

How much better it would be 

If man would follow Leader high 

With the certainty of thee 

•As thou dost 'long that valley fly. 

To his always-summer-land 

Where reigneth peace and joy and bliss, 
'Till he'd join the angel band 

In upper realms more fair than this. 



A Golden Message. 

As in a pensive mood I sat 

And gazed into the sky, 
I saw across my vision clear 

A little goldfinch fly. 

As on and on with graceful sweep 

It came and by me flew, 
It seemed to weave across the dome 

Gilt festoons— gold on blue. 

The bird had vanished from my sight. 
But as I sat and thought, 

I could not banish from my mind 
The message that it brought. 

Would I, as through this life I go. 
Weave 'cross some vision blue 

A string of golden festoons gay. 
More happiness Fd view. 



Wild Dacksy a Wary Flock. 

At first a slowly moving speck 

In tinted evening sky; 
Then seemed the painted sky to fleck 

As closer they drew nigh. 

Their path lay in the realms of air; 

Their guide the silver thread, 
Which led them 'long the valley fair 

O'er which chey swiftly sped. 

At last their glistening guide had run 
Where waters widened out; 

And as 'twas eve and set of sun, 
'Twas end of their day's route. 

At first I thought to see them slack 

Their rapid tiring pace, 
And with a satisfying ''quack," 
To marr the lake's smooth face. 

Ah, no! Not such a band as they. 

Too wise to be thus caught 
In lands where hidden dangers lay. 

In lands with evils fraught. 



Instead o'er lake's impending shade, 
With peering outthrust heads, 

They four or five gyrations made 
Before they sought their beds. 

Then sure that none, on mischief bent. 
Lurked 'long the margin near. 

Began its surface to indent 
Without a show of fear. 

How oft at set of ev'ning's sun, 

In mind, Fve watched that flight 

To where those waters ceased to run. 
Then seen them circling 'light. 

And then the thought as I'd review; 

To thus investigate 
Before accepting places new 

Would save from hidden fate. 



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To a Ruffed Grouse. 

As the morning's somewhat damp, 
And I feel inclined to tramp 
To the woods at break of day, 
With my gun, I haste away. 

As I pass through forest shades 
'Mong the rocks and brush and glades, 
Noisy drummer, thou dost fly 
Into somber morning sky. 

Taking quick but certain aim. 
Thee from air I seek to claim, 
But the shot from feathers glance 
As from shield the warrior's lance. 

Eagerly I watch thy flight. 
Knowing that Vd see thee light 
'Mong the boughs of fallen tree 
That beyond I plainly see; 

Or if thee it better please 
Upon some leafy hillock sieze 
Where the color of thy down 
Would protect thee, bird so brown. 

Then at once with stealthy tread, 
Neath thy wake my way I thread 
'Till I come within the zone 
Where I think thou hidest prone. 

As my eyes do pierce the gloom. 
All is silent as the tomb 
'Till upon some twigs I tread. 
Which the winds around have spread. 



All at once: An awful birr— 
Noisy flutter— Mighty stir. 
Then as meteor in the sky, 
See thee 'long the skyline fly. 

Again my gun to shoulder fling; 
Thee from sky to earth I bring. 
Alas! 'Tis an evil date, 
Thou hast met a common fate. 

As I stand and at thee gaze, 
I must note thy bygone days: 
How by night as well as day 
Evils did beset thy way; 

How the hungry fox at eve 
Did his gloomy dungeon leave, 
And 'mid fallen tree tops steal. 
Looking for his evening meal; 

How the hooting owl by night. 
With his rolling eyes so bright. 
Scanned each shadowed twig and bough, 
Looking for such prey as thou; 

How that evil man by day. 
Moved by base desire to slay. 
Did the shady forest seek, 
Hunting for thee, bird so meek ; 

How the setter trained did aid 
Man to make his savage raid; 
How the dog with keenest scent 
To thy haunts by man was sent; 



How in Autumn cold and drear 
When the leaves in heaps lay sear 
In the hold of forest deep, 
Like a knave wast forced to sleep; 

How when Arctic winds did blow, 
And the woods were filled with snow 
In this barren wood so bleak, 
Thou for food wast forced to seek; 

For the dogwood berries red 
Upon which so oft thou'st fed; 
For the slender twining vine, 
Which produced those clusters fine; 

For the tree of ebon haw, 
Which so oft hath filled thy craw; 
For the stem with berries bright. 
Which of old were used to write. 

But these stores had oft been shed 
By the winds that swiftly sped. 
And neath coverlet of snow 
Then were tucked secure from foe. 

When I think of thy past fears, 
I am almost moved to tears; 
How thy life so full of fear 
Unkind man should make more drear. 



